


What choice, what simple duty (We have a past to bury)

by Wandering_Crow



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:20:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28678035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wandering_Crow/pseuds/Wandering_Crow
Summary: Junko Enoshima was raised with a simple yet effective motto: nothing fuels humanity better than despair; not greed, not lust, not love, not need, not friendship. Fear alone brings the best results and it is through fear that one must rule. Her father secured her and her sister the land of Hope, drove it to terror and despair, and destroyed the royal family including the Heir Apparent, Makoto Naegi. Or so she thought until the rumors of his survival started being whispered across the land.Hotaka is a child found on the street with no name and no memory; all he remembers is the hospital he woke up in, the nurses patching his wounds and wrapping bandages around his head, scars that still ache to the present day. He grew up in the land of Despair, knew nothing but poverty and famine. One day, he breaks into the wrong house and meets Kirigiri Kyoko, he finds himself roped in the biggest con of the century. However, is a con truly a con when it turns out to be true?
Relationships: Kirigiri Kyoko & Naegi Makoto & Togami Byakuya, Kirigiri Kyoko/Naegi Makoto, Kirigiri Kyoko/Naegi Makoto/Togami Byakuya, Kirigiri Kyoko/Togami Byakuya, Naegi Makoto/Togami Byakuya
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	What choice, what simple duty (We have a past to bury)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeyaniraSan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeyaniraSan/gifts).



> Full summary: Junko Enoshima was raised with a simple yet effective motto: nothing fuels humanity better than despair; not greed, not lust, not love, not need, not friendship. Fear alone brings the best results and it is through fear that one must rule. Her father secured her and her sister the land of Hope, drove it to terror and despair, and destroyed the royal family including the Heir Apparent, Makoto Naegi. Or so she thought until the rumors of his survival started being whispered across the land.
> 
> Byakuya Togami was a faithful follower of the regime, the son of a count who had made the right choice during the Revolution and sided with the winners. In his father's name he is bound to follow the same beliefs that had fueled his father's choices. And yet, when a street rat enters his life, he finds himself irrevocably bound to him, to the point that he is faced with his own impossible choice: remain loyal to the regime and assassinate the street rat that may or may not be the former Prince of the country or follow himself and damn himself in the eyes of all those he had wanted to impress his entire life.
> 
> Hotaka is a child found on the street with no name and no memory; all he remembers is the hospital he woke up in, the nurses patching his wounds and wrapping bandages around his head, scars that still ache to the present day. He grew up in the land of Despair, knew nothing but poverty and famine. One day, he breaks into the wrong house and finds himself roped in the biggest con of the century. However, is a con truly a con when it turns out to be true.
> 
> Kyoko Kirigiri was once a noble, the daughter of a Count that miraculously survived the Revolution with not only his life, but enough money to offer them a modest life. However, when those money start dwindling, she finds herself planning a way to get herself and her father out of the land of Despair. And what could possibly be a better chance to take advantage of than the sudden search for the Heir Apparent of the former monarchy and the reward his grandmother promises to whoever can find Makoto Naegi. 
> 
> Anastasia AU

The monitor shows yet another political rally, the fanatical voices of yet another party wishing to ride the coattails of change and unroot the long-rooted history of their land, change the unchangeable and do the impossible. This time it is a party more ludicrous than others, the blind devoid on the faces of those gathered in the narrow stadium alight with devotion and fury, bowing to the man in front of them, speaking words of despair and power, of controlling the people by stripping them of anything until the mere despair for survival is what fueled them, what filled their every waking hour and danced behind their eyelids in the middle of the night, when slumber embraced them and chased all cognisant thought.

“Nanna, they’re scary,” the child sat in her lap whispers, his eyes, round as a doe’s drawn to the flashing images, the yelling mob and the two children sat on the stage next to the speaker, pink and black, cheerful and stoic, different as night and day, a picture as odd as their very presence on the stage was. To the untrained eye the dark-haired child would appear more off putting, her garb dark, as dark as her hair and as bleak as her gray gaze trained as a hawk’s on the people around her, flitting between her father and the party’s followers as if assessing every point of weakness, every potential danger, a motion too ingrained and natural to be normal for a seven-year-old child. However, it is not her that small Naegi shies away from, not her that he points towards with a wobbly finger, tears filling his eyes as he tries to burrow in his grandmother’s embrace. His target is the other child, pink haired and bubbly, a black and white bear clenched tightly in her small hands. She is bouncing up and down, an uncontained reservoir of energy that should somehow be offensive in such a gathering and yet no one thinks to say one ill word to her. 

“They’re children, Makoto. Just two little girls, the same age as you,” the woman tries to sooth him, although pointlessly. She knows he will not be swayed; for all his youth, her grandson has an intuition too keen for his age, a sense for people that had proved to be useful many times before, discovering thieving servants and hidden talents alike. 

“They’re evil,” he shakes his head with total conviction, his teeth playing with his lower lip, nibbling on it with anxiety until he breaks the skin, small droplets of blood painting them a reddish pink. “They’re despair,” he adds in what is akin to a prophecy, a voice too somber and sure for his age. He had grown too fast, her little Makoto, had had to learn much too soon. A gentle, kind mother dead before her time, a stern father too often buried in ruling the land to have time to spare for his eldest son and youngest daughter, and herself more often than not away in a different land, in her homeland that she had left for her husband and stayed away from for her daughter, but cannot abandon again for her grandchildren. 

“No one is truly evil, Makoto. There is no black and white in this world. Remember your mother’s teachings and keep up hope for everyone, for anyone, no matter how lost they might be.” 

She knows her son-in-law would wish otherwise, knows that despite his penchant for declaring their land to be the land of hope and prosperity, much too often it is the other way around, the hope forced down the throats of people and the prosperity kept for a select few. A land of turmoil and dissatisfaction, one that could easily fall prey to the winds of Revolution. One that could easily fall to despair. 

“Remember your mother’s teachings Makoto,” she adds, her gaze returning to the monitor, to the thunderous, fanatical clapping following the speech, to the glint of madness in the pink haired child’s eyes and the spark of murderous intent in that of her sister. To the man, tall and solemn, hand standing loosely on the pommel of his gun, promising a world of blood and chaos, a world of desperation and despair. 

She does not see their people mingled in the crowd, the Togami family and their stern faces, the Ookami dojo members standing straight and pensive, the notorious serial killers of the Fukuwa family grinning with bloodlust and licking their knives, eyes sparkling with the desire to destroy. There are more, some she knows, some she does not, all enraptured by promises not shown on TV, all bought with threats and promises, corralled into a nascent Revolution she will not be present for. 

On the stage a child laughs in glee and another sighs with grim determination. In his grandmother's arms another falls asleep, his eyelids fluttering in fear even in slumber. In another house, not far away, a light-haired girl watches the proceedings with resignation. Though few know it yet, the gears have already been set into motion. 

**\- 3 years later -**

A letter. Simple, unassuming, nothing but the mocking sigil, the bear grinning mockingly at him betrayed the dark contents of the missive. An echo of the past, a method of communication so fallen out of favor that the Togami head had almost thrown it away before taking note of the name, staring at him with daring black letters on the white parchment. A dare, a challenge, to take or leave, to prove himself or renounce himself as a traitor to the regime. An easy choice to make now in the whirlwind of the Revolution, in the chaos surrounding them, the favor of the leader the only thing keeping the noble family alive when so many others had perished during the first assaults. And now it was drawing to a close, to the conclusion that all had known would come to pass apart from the King himself. Secluded in Hope Castle, with their most loyal servants and the Heir apparent, the Princess lost in the first months of the insurrection, the King still fought to keep hold to the tattered remnants of his reign. 

But not more… The walls were breached, the castles was under siege, all they waited for was the curtain fall, their leader’s call to action, to allow them to storm the castle and take the royals in custody, to imprison or submit to the firing squad, whatever decision would be made. Now, that call had come, contained in the letter in front of him, wrapped in parchment. A bloody end, a revolution coming to a close, the death of the few for the greatness of the many, ending a reign that had subdued them for so long. All he had to do was say yes or no. Yes or no. A simple answer. A simple choice. Yes, life, prosperity, security for himself for his family. No, a death sentence for himself as well, betrayal, the choice of the foolhardy. It is not even a choice after all, more like a foregone conclusion.

And yet, he wavers, opens the letter and puts it down, trembles, shakes, his pistol glaring at him from the table where it rests, as if it were yet another ornament in the mansion that they owned.

“Father?” the voice shakes him out of his stupor, his youngest son’s query startling him from the dark musings his mind was drowning in. “Has something happened gone amiss?” The enquiry is made with all the seriousness a ten-year-old is able to muster, childish curiosity mingling with adulthood that had come too fast. 

“Go back to bed Byakuya. There is nothing for you to worry about.” He wants to snap at his son, to put him in his place, remind him of his status as the youngest son, of the uncertain fate he has in the future, no business to inherit and no title to receive but that of lesser Count. And yet, under the eyes that are still too earnest for the world they are living in and the stark concern the boy displays he does something he had never done before, not since Byakuya had been a suckling babe. He puts his hand atop his son’s head, ruffles his hair gently in a slightly rusty movement and presses reassuringly. He then turns on his knees, takes his gun and coat, before leaving the mansion.

Yes or No, Yes, No, Yes, Yes, Yes. No other choice but yes. 

**\---**

The walls of the castle rattle, shake, having barely withstood the first rounds of the assault, the bricks cracking each new hit, splinters littering the ground, the chance to fight back, to protect themselves having been long lost. The servants scream and cry, huddled into themselves, the women hiding the despair on their faces, muttering prayers under their breath, wielding knitting needles and fire pokers, refusing to simply lay down and die, the men staring dead ahead, hands clasped over anything that could be turned into a weapon, frying pans, mallets, forks, anything that could give them a sliver of a chance, resolute to fight to the last breath. United folk, united in hopes and prayers, in despair and hopelessness, in loyalty and beliefs. United in the sole desire to protect the last vestiges of their dreams, the last remnants of promises yet to come. Resolute in their desire to protect the Prince, to make sure the son of their Queen, the one that had inherited her looks and her will would be offered a chance, and another and another and another with each of their deaths. 

The King had holed himself in his study, refusing to leave, refusing to even answer the many knocks of his head butler, his guard, even those of his son. From time to time curses echoed inside, insults hurled to the heavens, desperation ringing in fervent prayers and calls to his late wife, his absolute surrender another reason to fuel the hatred the few left in the castle held towards him. And yet, despite it all, a kind voice was there to sooth them, to calm their frayed nerves, their fears, to help them stare death in the eyes and curse it to the ends of time. 

“Your highness please, you must hide. There are corridors, hidden in the walls, leading out of the castle,” the servant pleaded, almost begging. “At least please change in civilian clothes, make yourself less of a mark. Anyone here would be more than honored to swap places with you and give our lives for you to live.”

“I will not allow this,” 10-year-old Makoto Naegi interrupted with a pleasant yet resolute voice, his statement brokering no argument at all. In this he was unlike his mother, but more akin to his late grandfather, the same commanding presence in a pleasant mien. “There have been too many lives lost already. I will not allow another to be lost for my sake. The hidden tunnels are all blocked anyway, the blueprints of the castle have been given to the enemy weeks ago. Architect Asahina did a thorough job, we have no reason to believe he would have left any weakness secret.”

A single gunshot stops the conversation, the sound reverberating like thunder across the castle halls. ‘Despair’, the servants mutter, a hushed whisper they barely dare to utter, the word like poison, akin to a curse, each letter infused with so much dread that it’s barely heard in the sudden silence that had settled over the servants that had amassed around Naegi. 

“The King is dead,” the boy proclaims before the head butler even has the time to reach them, the old man’s face ashen, tears of fury, of desperation, gathered at the corner of his eyes, his fingers stained with blood, his doublet littered with crimson patterns. “The King is dead,” he too announces in a flat voice, barely keeping the trembles of his body in check. His eyes settle on Naegi and he kneels, prompting each of the servants to do so as well, their faces shuttered, but determined as their voices echoed at the same time, a promise and a proclamation, a pact signed in full understanding of the gravity of their situation. “Long live the King!”

As their voices dwindled to nothing, their determination renewed, makeshift weapons clenched in their hands as they put a human wall between the new King and the enemy, the castle walls rattled one last time, the door blown apart and the sound of feet like echoing like drums before the yelling started, the cries and the chaos. In the whirlwind of destruction that followed no one noticed the kitchen boy sneaking behind Makoto, his face stricken as he delivered a blow to the King’s head, not deadly, but debilitating, knocking him cold before the cook came and picked him up, rushing to the bowels of the castle and the hope that one of the tunnels would lead to safety. In his place, the kitchen boy stood up straight, clothed in silk and velvet, his hair recently dyed brown and his eyes, the same shape and color as the King’s watching with hopeless fury as everyone died around him, until he remained, a sole survivor in a sea of corpses, faced with the cold determination of the Togami head and the murdering glee of the Fukuwa family.

“Your Highness,” Togami said, the gun steady in his hand as he pointed it to the child before him, a child the same age as Byakuya, as the two sisters leading the Revolution from the backseat, a child looking at him with so much hatred and disgust in his eyes that he almost flinched. 

“My father is dead,” the boy retorted, trying to buy as much time as he could, praying that his sacrifice would grant the King his salvation. “If you are to address me in my last moments, at least do it properly.” It was funny how he had always hated the royals, resenting his place in the castle ranks, wishing to escape more than once, to flee from the kitchens that painted his future in the drab colors of the lower class and raise to the ranks, bask in wealth and freedom far away from the castle. And yet, he found himself here, a sacrificial lamb placed in place of the King due to their striking resemblance, a willing martyr that would rather throw his life away for the child that had befriended him, than trade it to the devils that sought to plunge the world in Despair. 

“Your Majesty,” Togami nodded, the request at odds with the humble nature he had heard the prince wielded like a second skin, bewildering, but not noteworthy enough to delay his mission further, to find answers to the conundrum placed before him. “The people of this land have found you and your father guilty of misdeeds and crimes against your very country. The penalty for this crime is death.”

“Do it,” the boy said, squaring his shoulders and meeting Togami’s gaze dead on. Another gunshot echoed, another body dropped and for a few moments the world stopped breathing. 

Deep in the tunnels of the castle, a man shook in fear, a boy held in his grasp as he stopped for a few moments to catch his breath. Outside, monitors across the country and the world announced the death of the royal family, the castle set ablaze in a pointless show of power and victory. A pink haired child gazed at the flames with a twisted smile on her face, the bear at her side no longer stuffed, but now controlled with a remote, twirling in a dance next to her, laughing with sick glee as the child herself laughed too.

**\---**

The letter laid on the table, stark against the mahogany color of the table, the sigil ripped with so much fury that the envelope stood in tatters next to it. The occupants of the house paid no further attention to it as they crammed clothes and valuables in bags, sewed jewels in the fabric of their jackets and put on mountain boots that came up to their ankles. In the background a monitor showed a castle going up in flames, the sound of gunfire muffled, almost drowned out by the voice of the television anchor that spoke with fervor of death and destruction, of the end of a past regime and the beginning of a new one. In the corner of the screen a grinning, black and white bear cackled madly, insanity glimmering in its glass eyes, the same madness echoed in the gaze of the assailants yelling triumphantly in the background. 

For a moment, Kyoko paused and looked back to the envelope, to the massacre shown on television, to the reality unfolding before her eyes. Though calm, her face was pensive, slight confusion gleaming through her placid mask, eyes moving from her father who was just packing the last of their belongings to the screen.

“Why did you not take the deal?” she finally asked, moving to grab the letter and scan its contents once more. A chance, a choice between damnation and despair, a devil’s deal where the only thing offered was loss, loss of one’s soul or loss of one’s life, sacrifice demanded in return for trust, a show of loyalty as grandiose as the regime itself was. Would she have made the same choice in her father’s shoes? She does not know and yet deep inside she judges him, for the foolish choice to follow the harder path, for his insane show of loyalty so at odds with the life he had led so far.

“I have done many things I regret in my life. Some of them in the employ of the royals themselves. I could have done it without a second thought, taken the deal and sealed their fate, ensured that our lives would continue as we have been accustomed to,” he explained, showing towards the mansion they were now leaving in a hurry, to the silk and velvet, the golden trim and the crystal chandelier, to the medals and the silverware. “It would have been so easy. A choice between yes and no. Between loyalty and betrayal. You would have said yes, I believe, perhaps without giving it further consideration.” Kyoko does not bother denying it, the curl of resentment in her soul, the judgement in her gaze, the inner knowledge of what path she might have chosen. 

“I should have said yes, perhaps. Nonetheless, I chose no. I chose not to put us at the whim of that man, not to allow you near those children, not to get any closer to the demons that are now ruling us. Perhaps it is a foolish choice, insane perhaps, the folly to believe that we can survive and thrive in direct opposition to the regime. And yet, I feel that should I have said yes, I would have given more of myself than I can even understand, I would have blackened my soul beyond salvation. I refuse to be that kind of father to you.”

She nodded, the beginning of understanding taking root, although she was far from truly being of the same mind as her father. Their lives now would be those of fugitives and traitors, of the hunted at the mercy of rabid predators; how was this better than damning themselves to the employ of the regime she did not know. And yet, her father felt strongly about this, strongly enough to risk both of their lives. 

It was too late anyway; the choice had been made. It was time to move forth, to continue on the path they had chosen. As they made their way out of the mansion and down the winding streets that led to the slums of the capital, the monitor remained turned on behind them, the flames dancing merrily as the leader of the regime made his first announcement as the ruler of the country.


End file.
